I was a jigsaw
scattered,
shattered,
tossed
in the wind—
each piece crumbled under your fingers.

You carved your name
in every break,
laughing
as you chipped away.

Me, broken,
lost,
stumbling through the ruins
like a ghost who forgot
how to haunt.

But something happened
in the silence
in the stillness
after your words were echoes,
after your hands stopped touching me.

I found the parts
you left behind.
Not fragments,
not trash—
but light.

You broke me,
and I broke too,
but I’m not fractured,
no.

I’m reborn,
from the cuts
you left
to the curve of my smile now
sharp,
fierce,
like glass.

You thought you destroyed me,
but I wear the wreckage like armor.
Handsome?
No.
I am more than that.
I am a fire
that burns
and never dies.